


To Devour Innocence

by zabjade



Series: Far to Go: Sideways [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 07:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15626133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabjade/pseuds/zabjade
Summary: While Buffy is recovering from a badly broken leg, Spike and the Scoobies have to stop a demon with a taste for the young. The very young.This story is part of the Far to Go: Sideways series, which is based on the main Far to Go series. It won't make sense if you haven't read that at least through Saturday's Child.





	To Devour Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Far to Go: Sideways is a series I'm working on with stories that could have happened in the Far to Go universe, but probably didn't. In the case of this particular story, it would have happened a little bit before the events of Lost Child. It's recommended that you read that series up that point, or aspects of this story won't make any sense.

A shiver of excitement raced along Spike’s spine as he stared at the demon across from him. There was no fear there, but the demon was nervous. Spike could smell it on him, like the first hint of scent from a just sizzling steak. It stirred his bloodlust, called him to the hunt. To play. To chase and catch. He took in a deep breath, curling his tongue around the scent that was thick enough to taste. The other three demons he’d faced had already given up. Would this one yield, or take a chance?

The urge to fidget was strong, to move and let out the excess energy, but Spike forced himself to just casually lean back in his chair while his lips twitched into a lazy smirk. This particular battle would be won – or not – through psychological tricks, not brute force.

“What’s it to be then, mate?” he drawled. “Haven’t got all night, you know.”

Clem’s shoulders slumped in defeat as he put down his cards. “I fold.”

It wasn’t the same as a hunt or physical fight, but Spike’s victory triggered some of those same endorphins. He’d pushed himself, danced the razor’s edge with Lady Luck and had come out on top. On top, with naught but a bloody pair of deuces. He stuck the end of a cinnamon stick in his mouth – the closest he could get to a fag for the nonce – and gathered up his winnings.

After getting his soul, kitten poker had lost all appeal, especially since he didn’t need to play for something with monetary value. This particular lot of demons were all benign and fairly laid back about things, so they’d agreed to play for treats that were a mite less furry. Even before the soul, Spike had preferred casual games to be with neutral demons. The evil sorts had tended to blather on about world domination and other such rubbish. Evil this and conquest that, blah, blah, blah. Blood soaked creatures of the night who wallowed about in filth and whatall and wanted everyone to know all about it. Worse than an old auntie who wouldn’t shut her gob about her bloody poodle. He’d never play with that sort again, unless it was an undercover mission or the like.

His haul for this win was four small bags of crisps, a box of Twinkies, and several candy bars. Packs of smokes had been common up until roughly three months ago, due to him being in the family way with his and Buffy’s second daughter. It was about the equivalent of being six months along, which meant he was back in the kilt and sweater ensemble he’d worn with Thursday. Today’s utility kilt was red and black plaid with thin lines of yellow. The sweater was russet. His usual black outfits were back in the wash after an incident with Dawn, a ketchup and marshmallow jelly sandwich, and the clean laundry.

 _Little bit has a right peculiar sense of taste, she does,_ he thought with a fond little shake of his head. Not that he had anything against that, of course. His own sense of taste was on the adventurous side, and not just because of the hormones running all willy-nilly through his body and setting off random cravings. God, he could really go for some chips about now. Or maybe something from that 24-hour Asian takeout place near the Magic Box.

“We think Margie might be about ready to lay a fertilized clutch,” Frank said, breaking into Spike’s thoughts. When wearing clothes, the scaly demon could pass for a human with a serious skin condition. He and his wife had been trying for kids for a little over a year now. “Her cloaca is redder than usual.”

Spike grinned hugely around the cinnamon stick in his mouth and reached over to pat Frank on the shoulder. “Congratulations. Give a hug to the missus for me, yeah?”

“I will,” Frank promised. “By the way, she wants you and Buffy over for Sunday dinner once the Slayer is all healed up. She’s always nagging that you’re too thin and wants to fatten you up.”

Spike just laughed and shook his head. “Vampire here, remember? As good as it is, Margie’s cooking will do sod all for me in that department. Sprog’ll get some good nutrients out of it, though. I’ll have to run it by Buffy first, but likely we’ll be by once her leg’s better.”

Slayers had amazing healing abilities, but even they couldn’t heal up from a serious fracture in only a couple of weeks. A routine patrol of one of the cemeteries had ended in a non-routine crash into a grave marker that had snapped the tibia in her left leg into two pieces. That’s why she was neither here – watching them play whilst making snarky comments – nor out on a bit of a solo patrol. Thank God for Ben, though. He’d been able to get Buffy all sorted without any awkward questions or expectations for healing time.

It was a minor miracle that Spike was even there himself. With the ritual they’d done, Buffy’s protective instincts were ramped up and focused on keeping Thursday and Aliena safe. And seeing as how Aliena was currently still stuffed up inside of him, that meant she was insanely protective of him, too. He’d had to pull the cabin fever card. Being cooped up in the house was going to drive him stark raving bonkers, which wasn’t good for him or the sprog. The fact that Buffy was feeling a bit stir-crazy herself had helped with that. It also helped that she trusted the Scoobies to keep him safe during patrol and that she knew and trusted his poker buddies.

They played for another hour, chit-chatting about their families, various sports, and the state of daytime telly. Finally, though, it was time for him to leave for the Magic Box. He said his goodbyes, shoved his winnings into a bag, and headed on out into the night. He was about halfway there when something that smelt strongly of vinegar rustled in the bushes.

“Well now, there’s something you don’t see every day,” he muttered as a feminine looking floating head popped out in front of him.

Spike tilted his head as he studied the thing. It wasn’t just a head. The esophagus was hanging down from it, along with lungs, stomach, and assorted entrails. Freaky little bugger, wasn’t it? Only question was, was it actually dangerous or just odd? For a moment, it just floated there like some kind of bizarre air squid, then it answered the question by giving out a loud screech as it flew at him, slamming into his chest.

 _Bloody hell,_ he thought, arms pinwheeling as he struggled to stay upright. Normally, he’d have been able to manage it, but with the sprog starting to show, his balance was off enough to make it a losing battle. He went down, landing on his arse with an annoyed grunt. _Right then, this thing is going down._

Before he could get up, it moved, darting between his legs and under the kilt. Then a sharp, fleshy tongue was poking at his nethers, right under his balls.

“Hey!” he yelped, scooting back. “Face away from the goods, you crazy bitch!”

He scrambled up to his feet and backed away from the thing. It hissed around an impossibly long, pointy tongue. It looked… confused, and it was eying his midsection with what he was damn sure was frustrated hunger. Then it turned and zipped away, viscera trailing behind it.

 

**...**

 

Giles frowned in growing concern and horror as Spike told them about the creature he’d encountered. The vampire was sitting at the research table with Tara, Xander, and Anya, somehow managing to speak coherently while also working his way through a rather large bowl of squid ink ramen.

“You’re, um, you’re quite certain this creature wanted to eat Aliena?” He didn’t doubt Spike, but he also didn’t want him to be right. There was nothing more innocent and helpless than a baby that hadn’t even been born yet, and the thought of something preying on them was sickening.

Spike finished slurping down some noodles, then pointed his chopsticks at Giles. “Bloody thing had its face all over my underparts. Either it was looking for a convenient hole so it could grab a takeout lunch, or it was some sort of blowjob demon that hasn’t a sodding clue how to go about its business.” His tone was flippant, but the look in his eyes was not. Grim rage smoldered in their blue depths. “I’d prefer it to be the latter, honestly, but somehow I don’t think it is. Not with the way it was eyeballing the lump o’ sprog.”

“I did not need to know there was such a thing as a demon that eats unborn babies,” Xander said with a shudder as he pushed the remains of his takeout teriyaki chicken over to Spike. The creature was not the sort of thing that would put a vampire – soul or no – off his feed, especially not a pregnant one, it seemed. “Also, please tell me there’s no such thing as a blowjob demon.”

Before Giles could say anything to reassure the boy, Anya perked up. “I don’t know if they occur naturally, but there this one bit of vengeance I did for a woman back in the 80s. Her boyfriend was always wanting oral, but he refused to return the favor, so –”

“Ahn,” Xander said, quietly interrupting her with a slight smile to take the sting out of it. “You can tell me all about it later. I think for now the baby eating monster thing is more important.” His smile faded as he stared down at the table. “I just… didn’t want to think about it for a minute.”

“You’re right,” she said, reaching over to rub his back. “Stopping the penanggalan _is_ more important right now.”

Giles blinked at her, not quite sure what he’d just heard. “What was that? Penanggalan, you said? You’re familiar with this type of demon?”

“Well, not really familiar, and it might not be exactly a penanggalan, but it sounds right. A floating female head with the intestines and a few organs attached that smells like vinegar and eats fetuses? That fits with a penanggalan or one of the other things like it floating around southeast Asia.”

“I… I could look it up online,” Tara offered hesitantly. With Willow locked away in London, Tara and the Wicca group from UC Sunnydale had taken up the magical slack. The young witch was also doing what she could in regard to technology, though she hadn’t anywhere near the hacking skills of her former girlfriend. Luckily, basic research required only an internet connection and a curious mind.

Giles smiled at her. “That would be greatly appreciated. I’ll look through my books, as well, and we’ll pool whatever information we can gather.” He glanced over at Anya, then slid a notebook and pen across the table. “Could you write down everything you know about the penanggalan?”

She eagerly took the notebook and started writing, happy to be able to help. She’d grown a lot during her time as a human. They all had, within this past year and a half, and Giles was proud of them. And of himself.

“I tried to chase it down,” Spike said suddenly. “Bloody thing got away, though. Went all intangible or somesuch and sank right into the ground.”

Giles frowned. That was going to make stopping the creature quite a bit more difficult. Especially since the Slayer wouldn’t be able to fight it.

“We can’t let Buffy know about this.”

Xander and Tara just stared at him, wide-eyed, but Spike nodded. He knew even better than the rest of them how hard the protective instinct drove her.  If she knew there was something out there that was a direct threat to Aliena, she’d go after it, injury be damned. She’d crawl if she had to, dragging her broken leg behind her.

“She can’t know,” Spike said quietly, glancing from Tara to Xander. Then his gaze fastened on Anya. “I know you’re not one for secrets, but knowing about this will cause more harm than good.”

She stared at him for a moment, then slowly nodded. “I understand. The effects of the ritual make it too hard for her to be logical and reasonable about hunting down the penanggalan.”

Logic and reason had never particularly been Buffy’s strong suites, but Giles refrained from saying so. She was far from stupid, but his slayer had always relied most heavily on instinct. And with the ritual influencing her, her instincts were compromised. She’d no doubt find out eventually, but for now, Buffy would have to be kept in the dark.

 

**...**

 

Spike quietly let himself in through the kitchen door, working on autopilot as he warmed a mug of human blood from one of the two-liter bottles in the refrigerator. It was clean and freely sold to a friend of Anya’s in L.A.. Once Aliena had been born, that same friend would be providing the horse blood he’d found he enjoyed quite a bit more than pig. Until then, however, it was human, animal blood not having enough of whatever vampires needed to keep both him and the sprog going. Without it, he’d poof into dust as Aliena drained away the demonic energy keeping him “alive.”

 _Least the morning sickness hasn’t been caused by any type of blood this go around,_ he thought as the scent of warming A positive drifted from the microwave. With Thursday, just that alone had been enough to have him doubled over, dry heaving.

The microwave dinged, and Spike took out the mug, his eyes fluttering closed as he took a slow sip. It wasn’t as good as straight from the tap, but even bottled up and reheated, there was something to it that just wasn’t there in animal blood. The flavor of life sizzled across his tongue, filling him with energy and vitality. It made him _want_. He wanted to hunt. To feed from a warm body, his fangs sinking in, something he could never get from packaged blood.

 _Buffy…._ He took a slow, deep breath before gulping down the rest of the blood. Getting most of it in one go would flood his senses with reckless desire for a moment, but it was better than the slow buildup he’d get from just sipping it. He’d reluctantly taken two ounces from her earlier that night, down from the usual four a day to help ensure he and the babe stayed healthy, and there was no way in hell he was taking any more than that. Not when she was hurt. She needed to keep her strength up to heal.

He took his time washing out the mug, giving himself a few minutes to settle down from the blood rush. Then he headed up the stairs and into the nursery. Thursday was sleeping peacefully in her crib, safe from the monsters out there like the penanggalan. _But not safe from monsters like me._

He shuddered and jerked his hand away before he could stroke one chubby little cheek. How was he at all better than what they were planning to kill? How many children had he hunted down for Dru, snacking here and there when he wasn’t in the mood for a proper hunt? Scads of ‘em. Far too many to even hope of counting. How many heavily pregnant women had he brought home, watching indulgently as Drusilla butchered them, bathing naked in their blood as she feasted on what little was in the near-term babies? Less often, there, only once or twice a year as a special treat. Over one hundred, certainly, but not quite two. Even a single one was far too many. Oh, God, he was a monster.

 _A_ reformed _monster,_ the memory of Ben’s voice whispered through his mind. _That first part is just as important. Even more, actually. You fought your base nature to become something better. The_ demon _in you made that choice and fought to get what he wanted. Don’t sell that choice or that part of you short._

Spike gripped the railing of the crib, closing his eyes as he focused on taking deep breaths and mentally counting to ten. He was a monster, and he’d done terrible things. There was no denying that. But he was also more than that, and that couldn’t be denied either. There was no atonement to seek, no way to make what he’d done better. There was only forgiveness. He’d asked for it once, on his knees in a church, and he’s felt… _something._ Now he just had to work on forgiving himself and living his life.

He took one last breath before opening his eyes. Then he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Thursday’s brow before slipping out of the room and into the one he shared with Buffy. She was stretched out asleep on the bed, her cast-bound leg elevated on a pile of pillows. He quickly shimmied out of his clothes, then snuggled in beside her.

“Hey,” she mumbled sleepily, giving him a sweet smile. “You’re home.”

“Yeah. Quiet night,” he lied.

“Good. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” he whispered as she drifted back to sleep.

He did, with everything he was. And that’s why he wasn’t going to tell her about the penanggalan. Let her rest up and heal, blissfully unaware of at least one horror that stalked the night.


End file.
